


The Gift of A Blue Silk Ribbon

by owlbsurfinbird



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>A kiss. Just that, nothing more. He had it planned.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of A Blue Silk Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComplicatedLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Complicated Light!  
> (It's still your birthday here for another five hours--party on!) Thank you for encouraging me to try my hand at, erm, ahem, and for giving me the rather inspiring image of someone dropping to their knees in front of Robbie. Title inspired by "The Drunken Scotsman" (because of course Robbie would win first prize).

"Of course the Via Aemilia and the area near the Church of San Giuliano is worth seeing, but you and Franco must make time to see the illuminated manuscripts in the Gambalunghiana Library." James followed Laura Hobson into her office. "Magnificent."

"I think we'll be spending most of our time on the beach. Not the first time either of us has been to Rimini." Laura gazed at him over her coffee cup, and raised it slightly. "Not like you to resort to bribery."

James leaned against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Guilty." After an indecisive moment, he straightened and bounced on his toes. "When I asked Robbie what he'd like for his birthday, he said he wished I would do what you did last year because he quite enjoyed it. So I was wondering where you went and if I needed to make reservations."

Laura's eyes twinkled and she grinned. "We stayed in."

"A recipe, then? A DVD?" A terrible thought suddenly occurred to him. "A book? Tell me that you bought him…a tie?"

She bit her lip, grimacing a smile faintly as she tilted her head. "Sorry."

He took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. He stared at the floor, hoping it would swallow him, and not wanting to contemplate what would motivate Robbie to make such a cruel wish. No, of course James must have misunderstood. He could feel his face getting hot. Of course Robbie and Laura would have had a romantic interlude of some sort last year when they were still together.

He thought that Robbie was over Laura though. Thought that the gentle smile Robbie had had on his face meant he was looking forward to a celebratory evening with James, not a fond reminisce of an idyll with Laura.

Well. A pint after work, then, and a cupcake with a candle in it. Just like last year. And all the years before.

_Eight bloody years. Pint and a cupcake._

Something hard welled up in James's chest. He pushed it down and concentrated on Laura, whose grin had softened into complete understanding. It made his heart hurt, that look.

"James." She glanced outside her office door, making sure they were alone. "He cares for you, very much. More than as a friend. You _know_ that. I think what he meant is that he wished you would take the next step. You know."

"No, I don't – _know,_ " James said, waving a dismissive hand, his words coming out in a frustrated, self-conscious rush. "He said he wished I would give him something you gave him. I don't know what that is. I don't know if I'm capable of that, whatever it is. I don't know what he wants. Or what I want, for that matter. I don't know what is expected. I don't like not knowing. As you've pointed out to me—and to him, I suppose—people don't know what you are thinking unless you tell them—and I simply don't know—"

"—Fellatio," Laura interrupted.

"I — I beg your pardon?" He could not have heard that correctly; she simply wouldn't come right out and say _that._

She gave him a look of feigned innocence. "It's Italian for—"

"Please." James's face was on fire, irritation warring with embarrassment. "I—" he took a deep breath and gestured to the door. "—need, um."

"Don't mention it." She smiled warmly.

"God, no. Never." He hurried out in to the hall hoping he wouldn't see anyone.

He needed to think about this.

+++

James put his hands on either side of the countertop and hung his head, hoping Robbie would be on time as usual. He'd just put the Beef Wellington in the oven—he'd modified Gordon Ramsey's recipe a bit to add a savory crepe between the filet mignon and the puff pastry to keep the pastry from getting soggy. The bread he'd baked earlier in the day was still warm. Fingerling potatoes with fresh herbs and garlic. Chard. A salad, wine vinaigrette. A nice Cabernet. He'd even put a candle on the table—a short one, tapers would have been too romantic.

Chocolate amaretto cake—too rich by half. A single candle. A dark Malmsey—or perhaps that Spanish port—for dessert. Or maybe more of the amaretto. He hadn't decided.

He wondered if putting alcohol in nearly every component of the meal was a subconscious way of making sure he and Robbie were sufficiently inebriated for what he had in mind.

He needed the courage.

And possibly the alcohol would act as an anesthetic if Robbie reacted badly and took a swing at him.

He was going to make a move on Robbie. A kiss. Just that, nothing more. He had it planned. Wine, dinner. Robbie would offer to help clear the table and James would take the plates from him, set them back down and—

—his mind went blank.

No, no. He had a plan. He took another sip of his wine. He would take Robbie's face in his hands. And there would be a soulful, deep moment where they would look into each other's eyes and there would be no words keeping them apart. It would be a pure, chaste kiss where their lips barely met and then, and then—

— he had no idea how to get him to the couch. He had a mental image of the two of them holding hands, though, gazing into each other's eyes.

No, he wouldn't be able to do it. Robbie would wonder what was wrong with him and he'd back away. The Wellington would be like shoe leather, they'd wind up eating leftover Thai. The cork would break in the neck of the wine bottle and they'd be left with Stella. They'd watch one of the John Wayne DVDs from the set he'd bought as another present—and it would probably be the worst one in the set, _Hatari!_ perhaps.

Maybe he would hand him his glass of wine—yes, they'd need more wine, lots of wine, _all_ the wine—and they would sit on the couch side by side, their knees touching, sipping wine and staring soulfully at one another, passion simmering beneath the surface. He gave the potatoes another desultory stir and turned off the heat. He'd serve the cake from the coffee table in front of the couch.

He'd start slow. Work up to it.

Tonight they would kiss. In a few months—if this went as planned—they would reach a mutual understanding. Overnighting would follow.

And, in another eight years—

—perhaps James would figure out what he was doing and what Robbie wanted.

_Christ._

James polished off his wine and noticed that his hands were damp. He wiped them on a tea towel and took a deep breath. _Remain calm. People do this all the time._

It was just Robbie.

Robbie wants me, he reminded himself. After years of waiting, he wants this, wants me. _Us._ He said as much.

_Unless I've misunderstood._

_Shit._

He tensed all of his muscles and then slowly and deliberately relaxed. His head was ready to explode. His heart was pounding hard enough to leap from his chest, wine was sloshing in his gut, and he was half-aroused, which was embarrassing as hell. Nothing like saying hello with—well. Especially since he had no intention of acting on it, not tonight at any rate.

No, tonight would be a tender, gentle, and thoughtful exploration of intentions and their feelings for one another.

He put on the playlist he had created for the evening: Robbie's favorite music minus the Wagner and hard rock mixed with his own favorite music minus the madrigals and Gregorian chants. He lit the candle on the table, surveyed the room.

Romantic. Classy. A bit like himself, he thought. He rubbed his forehead wondering when he had become delusional. Wondered if he should brush his teeth again. 

He was pouring himself another glass of wine when Robbie knocked at the door and let himself in.

James finished pouring wine into Robbie's glass and turned to face Robbie who was sniffing the air as he removed his jacket and draped it carelessly over a chair. "Smells good," he said, smiling.

James stared for a moment too long and awkwardly handed Robbie the glass as he raised his own. "Happy birthday."

It always took him a few moments to adjust to Robbie wearing something other than a suit and tie. Robbie was wearing his blue shirt, the one James liked because it looked soft. It matched his eyes.

He had had fantasies about touching that damn shirt and the man wearing it and now—God, he felt like a complete idiot—he had nearly reached out and touched Robbie's shoulder. It was all because he knew that more was possible. If he could only put that out of his mind, they would have a nice evening—food, wine. Listen to music.

Unless he cocked it up.

Poor word choice there.

A teenager would have more control, he thought, blushing. He couldn't help staring at Robbie—his mouth, his eyes—and now, the way his forehead creased as if he was wondering what was going on with James.

Their fingers brushed.

James dropped his glass. It hit the floor with a thud, not breaking, but spilling red wine everywhere. He stared at the stain on the carpet and looked up at Robbie.

"You alright? I'll get a towel." Robbie put his own glass down and edged past him, his hand pressed on James's forearm, reassuring.

James clutched at him, stopping him. "Robbie."

"What are you on about? That'll stain."

"Leave it. I—" James held on. "I just need—oh, fuck it." He took Robbie's face in his hands and kissed him, hard, intending it to be something brief, something to take the edge off his nervousness.

It was neither.

Robbie pulled him in, a hand behind James's neck, and kissed him back, deeply, expertly, taking over by sliding an arm around James and pulling him close, the fingers of one hand firm against James's jaw.

James melted. He sighed into the kiss and felt his face go hot and then hotter as Robbie ground his hips, pushing him against the wall so hard that something crashed on the other side of it.

Robbie grabbed James's hand and pressed it to the front of his jeans. "What you do to me, lad." His voice was a growl and it made the hairs on the back of James's neck stand up. He shivered.

James broke the kiss, pressing his face against Robbie's neck, breathing deep and not thinking anything at all, peppering him with not-quite kisses along his neck, content to press his lips against the pulse there, rubbing his cheek against Robbie's shoulder, the soft fabric of that shirt. He cupped his hand against the front of Robbie's jeans feeling the length and width of him. The combination of soft and rough and hard and hot short-circuited his thoughts, his feelings.

His brain was white noise, completely automatic and laser-focused on Robbie's center, pressed rigid against his own.

He fumbled at Robbie's belt, trying to undo the man's zip, getting it halfway down. He realized he could be kissing him as he did so and captured his mouth again, sliding his tongue against Robbie's and physically turning them both so that now Robbie was pressed flush against the wall and James was in control.

The idea of control spurred James on, made him feel bold, powerful. Confident. He moved quickly, took Robbie's wrists and pressed them against the wall on either side of Robbie's body and held them there as he dropped to his knees and nosed at the front of Robbie's jeans, breathing in the scent of laundry powder, soap, and beneath it all, the scent of Robbie, hot and hard just beyond the thin layer of pants. 

He felt like he was almost worshipping the man, kneeling in front of him. Robbie's hands rested lightly on his head, a benediction.

_Christ. Not religious metaphors! He wasn't an angel!_

James let go of Robbie's wrists because he needed his hands to get that zip down. He wanted to taste him, wanted—

—wanted Robbie. Wanted him before the birthday boy put a stop to this.

And now Robbie was trying to pull him up. "Easy, man." He placed strong hands beneath James's arms and pulled.

"Wait, let me," James panted, his body bent in a half crouch, trying unsuccessfully to drop back onto his knees.

"Dammit, James." Robbie tugged hard, throwing them off balance, and losing his footing so that he was sliding down the wall, his legs folding underneath him, pulled down by James who watched in horror as Robbie toppled onto him.

"Um. Sorry," murmured James. 

Robbie gazed down at him and grinned against James's open mouth and then kissed James thoroughly, his hands holding James's face still as he did so. Forehead, eyebrows, the tip of James's nose. His mouth. James felt as if he was being blessed, anointed. Cherished.

Robbie's heart beat against his own. James made a soft sound in the back of his throat—a cross between a whimper and a soft moan—because this, _this_ was what he really wanted.

Robbie dropped his head to James's shoulder and nuzzled into his neck before rising up on one elbow to look at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, as if he knew secrets.

 _God help me,_ thought James. _He probably does._

"I broke your fall," James offered ruefully. "And I'm sitting in the wine I spilled."

Robbie chuckled. "Have to get your pants off, then. It'll stain."

"It's your birthday," A smile quirked the corner of James's mouth. "Surprise."

Robbie rolled his eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but what…?"

"You said you wished you could have what Laura gave you last year for your birthday again this year. I wanted to make you happy today because," James whispered as he cupped Robbie's face, his thumb touching the corner of Robbie's mouth, "you make me happy every day just by being on the planet." He stared into Robbie's eyes, closed his own, and unerringly found Robbie's lips. 

It was a perfect kiss. Robbie smiled against his mouth, pulling just far enough away to breathe, "What did Laura tell you she gave me last year?"

"This."

Robbie blinked. "An assault?"

"A—sexual encounter. A specific kind of sexual experience. I was trying for something a bit more romantic."

Robbie glanced down at his jeans halfway down his thighs, James's untucked shirt and the fact they were sitting in a puddle of wine. He chuckled softly. "She gave me a pair of garden gloves, James. Nice leather ones. I lost them when I moved."

"Garden gloves. I see." James thoughts were a whirlwind of good-natured revenge scenarios that died down as soon as he realized that he had just what he wanted. And Robbie did, too.

Robbie pushed against the wall and stood, clutching his jeans with his free hand. He reached down to help James. "Will dinner keep?"

James raised an eyebrow. _No._ There was something burning. He closed his eyes.

"Can we continue this on a soft surface? I'm not as young as I used to be. And I do want to enjoy the rest of my present with you."

"It's not much of a present."

"Oh, I'm more than happy with the present, James," said Robbie, kissing James again and smiling, "as long as there are futures with you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> This is "The Drunken Scotsman" (http://www.thebards.net/music/lyrics/The_Scotsman.shtml). The story goes that a Scotsman is passed out beneath a tree and two maidens happen upon him:
>
>>   
> They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quiet as could be  
> Lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see  
> And there behold, for them to see, beneath his Scottish skirt  
> Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth  
> They marveled for a moment, then one said we must be gone  
> Let's leave a present for our friend, before we move along  
> As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon, tied into a bow  
> Around the bonnie star, the Scots kilt did lift and show  
> Now the Scotsman woke to nature's call and stumbled towards a tree  
> Behind a bush, he lift his kilt and gawks at what he sees  
> And in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes.  
> O lad I don't know where you been but I see you won first prize.  
> 
> 
> Doesn't have much to do with Robbie's present this year...maybe next year. :-)  
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked (apologies).


End file.
